Artificial Heartstrings
by HappyLamp
Summary: Lovino Vargas, member of one of the most dangerous mafias in the world, had never expected to fall in love, much less with a clueless, good-for-nothing Spaniard. And frankly, someone in his position isn't supposed to, either. But who exactly is Antonio? Who is he to Lovino? In this dog-eat-dog world, only their actions can determine whether their feelings are true or not.
1. Prologue

**Hi guys! I've finally finished this! It's not a one-shot, and a little long, so I'll update once a day or so. But the whole thing should be up in around a week or so. I started writing this a while back, but I never finished, and eventually re-wrote it all with more descriptions. It's SpaMano, though it's not all that obvious. There's quite a bit of cursing (Lovino) and of course, there's killing and blood (it's a mafia fic...).**

**This is also inspired by the song "The Last Revolver" by mothy (sung by Gumi). This prologue is a taste for the END of the story. I am not fluent in Italian, so if there are any mistakes, please let me know. This is also published on my Quotev account, so don't freak out if you see it there. Anyway, please let me know if you like it! I appreciate everything!**

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The gun clicked as Lovino pulled the hammer. He held the revolver at arm's length, pointing it in the direction of the handsome Spaniard in front of him: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Their eyes met each other's, lingering in a silent warmth for longer than the Italian man would like to admit.

Lovino's heart hammered inside his chest. Taking in a deep breath, he tried to steady his rapid breath and racing pulse; trying to at least somewhat calm himself down. And it was all to no use.

The revolver still hung in the air, pointing at Antonio's head and ready to fire. Though Lovino had always had a steady aim, his arm strangely trembled slightly yet uncontrollably.

_Perhaps the gun would disappear, _Lovino thought grimly, _if only I wished for it hard enough._

The Italian man squeezed his eyes shut, wishing with all his might that the small yet heart weighing object in his hand would fade away into nothing. Yet as he blearily opened his eyes once more, the scene turned out to be unchanged – in fact, it was more real than ever.

_If I could fix it, _Lovino thought, his eyes already starting to water against his will, _I'd want us to see the fireworks festival once more, okay? …I'm so sorry for everything._


	2. An Awkward Meeting

It was a warm spring day, barely past ten in the morning. A dark haired man with a strange curl on the right side of his head and beautiful olive toned skin stood beside a cherry tree; seemingly staring into far away lands.

It was the middle of spring – flowers had begun to grow, though there were still many that had yet to bloom. The cherry tree was adorned with blossoms, gently starting to lose their petals in the soft current of the wind. They floated down gracefully, painting the new spring grass with soft whites and pinks. A couple petals descended down upon the Italian's head, but he didn't seem to notice, much less care.

Both tourists and locals alike decorated the park. Young couples would come to spend time together under the romantic scenes with falling petals. Families would come for picnics – the parents would bathe in the majestic beauty of springtime while the children had plenty of space to run around and play in the open meadow.

A young man, somewhere around his mid-twenties, smiled at the people sitting around in the park. His unruly chocolate coloured hair and slightly darker complexion screamed out that he was not from Italy like everyone else here, but rather from Spain.

A little girl suddenly ran in front of him, causing the man to stumble. He just barely caught himself from tripping over.

"Ah, it sure is crowded here!" The Spaniard chuckled to himself, gingerly trying to walk around a rather noisy family's picnic blanket.

He looked around, trying to find a place where he could relax, preferably away from the large crowd of tourists and locals. A perfect place bore into his gaze. One of the many cherry trees planted a little way across was rather isolated. Apart from one suited man standing under the tree and a family with toddling triplets, the area was pretty much clear. And, well, for these standards, it was relatively good.

The dark haired man tried to walk around the many couples and families settled all around him, yet it was impossible to do so without stepping on someone's blanket, hair or fingers a couple of times. After a while of stepping around and awkwardly apologizing in his broken Italian, he was getting close. He was only a few feet away from the cherry tree when one of the triplets suddenly ran into him. The Spaniard gasped in surprise and fell forward. Desperately trying to grab hold of something to break his fall, the chocolate haired man reached out for the tree of the trunk and grabbed onto it.

Or, at least, that's what he thought.

"Oi! _Watch it, you bastard_**_!_**" cried an angry voice in Italian.

The Spaniard realized, in embarrassment, that he had not grabbed hold of the cherry tree trunk, but the waist of the suited man standing in front of it. Face flushing terribly red, the man quickly let go and picked himself up to his feet.

Looking up at the suited man, the Spaniard cringed. His intimidating glare bore into his skull, making the Spanish man almost tremble. Now, he wasn't a coward – no! Yet who wouldn't be even a little scared when a furious Italian seemed to threaten you with his gaze?

_"__Mi dispiace, signore._" He mumbled in the little Italian he knew.

"Tch, you'd better be, you bastard." The suited man replied in perfect English, gaze softening slightly after he had realized that this "attack" had been nothing more than some pathetic tourist who… well, what exactly was he doing?

"Ah! You speak English!" the Spanish man exclaimed cheerfully, at once forgetting the awkward situation he was in.

"I'd rather have us speak English than to have you butcher my beloved language any more." The suited man replied with barely a smirk.

"Haha, sorry 'bout that. It's just so good to find someone who I can understand! Oh! And sorry about grabbing onto you like that before – a little girl ran into me. Man, there are so many people here! Is it always like this in Italy? Do you know? I mean, are you from around here? I'm from Spain, but I just moved here! My name's Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, by the way! What's your name?" the Spaniard rambled on. The Italian man could only stare in slight wonder at the man before him.

"…You sure as hell do talk a lot."

"Heh, I guess I do. Sorry, is it bothering you? I can stop talking, if you want. People often doubt that, but honestly, I can be quiet!" Antonio said, smiling up at the man in front of him. Dumbfound, the Italian couldn't think of any comebacks to the strange things that the Spaniard just said.

"…It's fine. I'm Lovino. Lovino Vargas." He said. Oh well – it wasn't _that_ bad of a comment.

"Oh! That's a lovely name, Lovino!" Antonio exclaimed, trying out how the name sounded on his tongue. "I shall call you Lovi!"

Lovino cringed. "Please don't." he said, but the Spanish man didn't seem to notice. Instead he continued to ramble on about… well, everything, really.


	3. A Seed of Doubt

"Oi, how long are you going to follow me around, you bastard?!" Lovino exclaimed finally. In the short time he had met Antonio, the Spaniard had loyally followed him to the bathroom, back to the cherry tree, to an Italian restaurant and now through the streets of Rome. Although he would never admit any of this aloud, there was something… nice about being around someone who seemed to like you.

_Is this why Feliciano keeps hanging around that German bastard?_ Lovino thought, thinking back to his younger twin– a cheerful fool, like his brother would always call him. Then again, Antonio was similar to his younger brother in more than a couple ways.

"Eh? Well… I can leave you alone, if you'd like. I don't want to be a burden." Antonio said, his voice dropping slightly in a sad tone.

"H-hey, I didn't mean it like that!" Lovino protested, face heating up like a stove. He crossed his arms defiantly, "I'll let you follow me home, if you really want to."

Antonio's face lit up at this proposal, "Really? Oh, that's great! Thank you, Lovi!" he exclaimed, at once regaining his usual cheerful self. Lovino scoffed at the dreaded nickname, but somehow… it sounded better coming from Antonio's lips than from his brother's, or anyone else's for that matter.

"Just a quick question," Antonio said, becoming _slightly_ more solemn for the time being, "Aren't you afraid, or anything? I mean, I get that I don't look dangerous (or think that way!), but we've just known each other for a couple hours. Aren't you at least a little suspicious?"

Lovino rolled his eyes, "First of all, I _don't_ trust you. If I trusted every bastard I came across, I'd be long dead by now. Secondly, even if you did try to rob me or kill me or anything like that, you'd be the one with a bullet through your skull."

The Italian huffed, something that almost sounded like a laugh. It left Antonio rather confused – was this a joke? Was he serious? In the short time they had known each other, this was the closest thing Antonio had heard to a laugh from his companion. Not knowing what to do, the Spaniard simply decided to ignore what Lovino had just said. Besides, the slightly creepy question he had asked deserved a slightly creepy answer, right?

"This is it," Lovino declared as he opened the door of a remote apartment. He stepped inside and the Spaniard loyally followed in behind him, eyeing everything with wonder.

It was really a rather small apartment. … Alright, it was _tiny_. There was one small bedroom with a double bed, one microscopic bathroom, something you _could_ call a kitchen, and a corner with a couple beanbags. The walls were old and cracked, and the not-so-white paint on them was threatening to peel off any second. The creaking wooden floor was covered with a thin layer of dust that looked _very _new, and the air was filled with small dust particles that gently floated down like snow.

But the décor was beautiful. Golden framed oil paintings hung on the walls, observing everything that was happening in the apartment with their unmoving eyes. The small table in the kitchen and the double bed was made out of Brazilian mahogany, something that was almost impossible to find, much less afford in Italy. And, of course, the expensive specially tailored suits were more than enough to brag about the Italian's fortune.

"Close your damn mouth – I don't want any drool on the floor." Lovino scolded harshly, bringing Antonio back into reality. The man nodded, closed his mouth and turned back to Lovino.

"You have a very, uh… nice apartment." The Spaniard said, causing Lovino to scoff.

"You're just saying that, aren't you?" he asked, "This place is fucking small."

"W-well," Antonio chuckled, "It _is_ a little small, but the furniture here is absolutely beautiful!"

Lovino smirked, "It better be. Cost a damn fortune. …Well, it's good you think so."

The two men smiled (one much more obviously than the other) and Lovino brought his guest to the small 'living room' (meaning the corner with the beanbags).

"Oh! _Fratello! _Who is this?" a cheerful voice echoed through the house, making both Lovino and Antonio jump in surprise.

Scoffing, Lovino did his best to un-tense himself, "Damn it, Feliciano! Don't scare us like that!" he exclaimed loudly, followed by a string of Italian curse words, "…And this is Antonio."

Almost immediately later a flush and the sound of running water in the sink was heard. A person came out of the bathroom, and to Antonio's astonishment, he looked _very _much like the man he met just a couple hours ago.

"_Ciao!_" the person said, bouncing towards the guest, "_Sono Feliciano! Lovino es mi fratello!_"

"Ah… _Mi dispiace, non comprende italiano._" Antonio said awkwardly to the boy. Stopping for a split second to think, the man quickly opened his mouth again, only to reply in perfect English.

"Hi! I'm Feliciano, Lovino's brother. It's nice to meet you, Antonio~" Feliciano said. Finally understanding, Antonio smiled back at the Italian and introduced himself more formally. However, it didn't quite seem that the brother was interested in that. Feliciano quickly turned to face Lovino and started speaking in hushed rapid Italian, his tone so different than before that the Spaniard had trouble believing he was the same person.

Antonio strained himself to try to understand what they were talking about. He wasn't one to listen in on other people's conversations, but… well, there was something about the way they were speaking that made him instinctively listen, against his will. Besides, he only knew the basics of Italian – the biggest reason he understood what he had up until now was because of the familiarity between Italian and his mother tongue. …And they were talking much too fast to catch all the words. But the ones that he heard were burned into his memory.

_Are they speaking about… the mafia?_


	4. Early Arrival

**Oh! Thank you so much for the two follows and a favourite! ^^ I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, too!**

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"P-please! Have mercy!" a desperate voice sobbed, "I have a family! They need me! P-please!"

A man and a woman were alone in a dark street. It was dead quiet, apart from the woman's dreadful sobs. She had long ago given up running away—the man chasing her was much too fast, not to mention younger and in better condition than the woman. Running was of no use. The younger man had caught her.

He sighed, almost as if he was bored with what was going on. He had heard the pleas and the sobs countless times already. It was nothing new; nothing interesting. Swiftly, he pulled out a revolver from one of his numerous coat pockets and pointed it at the woman's temple.

"Please!" she begged desperately. The woman was on her hands and knees, with hot tears streaming down her dirtied face, "PLEASE!"

The man said nothing. He looked her in the eye—hers were desperate, pleading; yet his were cold and emotionless. His index finger twitched, and he pulled the trigger.

The cry that rang out through the empty streets was silenced quickly. A pool of warm red blood gradually widened and trickled through the cracks in the street.

Lovino sighed, wiping a speck of blood off his cheek. Disposing of the body was always the least favourite part of his job.

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Lovino sighed as he checked his watch once again. It was 6:53 in the evening, and the Italian and the Spaniard had agreed to meet under the cherry tree where they had first met a couple months ago. The only problem was that Antonio was late. One and a half hours late.

"Where is that bastard?" Lovino muttered under his breath.

Normally, the Italian wouldn't wait for anyone this long, not even his younger brother. But some kind of feeling had blossomed in the Italian's mind that was tied to that Spanish man—was this what people called _happiness_? But Lovino had no intention of losing that strange new feeling without discovering it all the way just because Antonio wouldn't show up. No, this could as well be the first and last time he had felt this curious swelling in his chest, and he figured that he may as well poke at it until he found out what it truly was. It certainly didn't feel like hatred or revenge-seeking… so what could it be?

"Sorry I'm late, Lovi!"

The Italian man spun around and faced the Spaniard, face starting to burn red for reasons he did not know. The brown haired man was running up the hill upon which he stood on, smiling apologetically as he huffed from running who knows how long.

"Gah, where the hell have you been, you bastard?" he called out, not waiting for the man to reclaim his breath as he finally managed to reach the cherry tree.

"Just… taking out… some trash… y'know?" Antonio puffed

"And what? Did you drive to the dump on the other side of the country to throw it away?" Lovino scoffed.

"…Heh, something like that." The Spaniard sighed, before quickly reclaiming his usual cheerful face, "Anyways, I'm here now, so let's start the picnic!"

Lovino blinked. "About that… er… You took too much time, you bastard! I was hungry, so I ate it, okay?!"

"EH? You didn't wait for me?"

"Why the hell would I? What was I supposed to do for two fucking hours?" Lovino exclaimed, kicking lightly at the already overturned picnic basket.

"Two… hours?" Antonio blinked.

"Yeah. Two. _Fucking_. **_Hours_**. It's your fault."

"Ohh! Lovino! I had no idea you liked me so much!" Antonio cried happily, throwing himself at Lovino and embracing his tightly.

"Wh-what the hell are you talking about, bastard?" the boy yelled, desperately trying to wriggle out of the death-tight hug.

"I'm only one and a half hours late, Lovi. Had you really come here half an hour before our scheduled meeting? Ah, I'm so happy~" Antonio laughed, finally releasing the boy from his embrace.

"N-no! Feliciano drove me here earlier, 'cos he had to go get a job done! I did _not_ come here early for you!" Lovino cried, desperately trying to cast away Antonio's (true) accusation.

"Haha, sure, sure." Antonio laughed, completely ignoring the flustered look on Lovino's face.

"_CHIGI!"_


End file.
